


It's Not Screeching, It's Screaming

by lozateazer, purrslink



Series: Feed the Birds [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Birds, Animal Traits, Damnit Barton, Even if he finds it somewhat flattering, Hybrids, M/M, Phil really hates Spring sometimes, Some of us have to work though, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:17:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lozateazer/pseuds/lozateazer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/purrslink/pseuds/purrslink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring time really isn't that much fun, because damn it Barton, some of us work you know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Screeching, It's Screaming

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot is very much inspired by [Dr. Kara's](http://dr-kara.tumblr.com/) amazing pictures, in which [Clint](http://dr-kara.tumblr.com/post/34712867857/animal-avengers-tony-steve-natasha) has the wings of a red-shouldered hawk and [Phil](http://dr-kara.tumblr.com/post/34764921450/animal-avengers-tony-steve-natasha-clint) has the wings of a gyrfalcon.
> 
> Like most of our serious discussions about great art and awesome things, crack eventually reared its head. And then came this. We'd say we're sorry but we're not.

"What is that sound?"

Coulson paused in his explanation of just why the subsonic regulators needed to be at least 2 miles from the cordoned armory area - they didn't need a repeat of that instance, thank you, no matter how well the footage synched with Magic Carpet Ride - and frowned. "What sound?"

The operations specialist - Redenski, four months officially from making grade two, six months from grade one by Coulson's standards - frowned in return, tilting his head and wrinkling his nose in a way that only made his freckles more pronounced. A long serval ear twitched back. "That...screeching?"

"Screeching." The bland expression went with Coulson's opinion of the adjective. Kids these days.

"Screaming?"

The answer wouldn't have been any more help to anyone else. Fortunately for Redenski, Coulson was fairly intimate with what all manners of screaming meant. Particularly the tone and timber of the one overhead at his seven.

Coulson's wings ruffled in exasperation as he sighed. "Agent Barton."

"Sir?"

"That would be Agent Barton." There was some irony in the way Redenski's long tail suddenly wrapped around the specialist's leg. Some reputations transcended foundations and genetics, after all, not that Coulson would be telling Clint that. The last thing anyone need, much less Coulson and his two meetings left today, was a worked up and cocky Clint.

When Redenski didn't turn back to the tablet Coulson sighed again. "Sorry, he's just a little bit riled up. It's my fault, really."

The slow nod from Redenski was more indicative of having heard words rather than understanding. So Coulson did the polite thing and pretended the man was more astute than current behavior patterns indicated. His mother and the military had taught him manners after all.

Another scream had Redenski moving to the left that had Coulson saying, automatically, without looking up from a schematic, "I wouldn't stand right there, specialist."

Struggling to pay attention to both the circling bird of prey and the mission operational center parameters, Redenski flicked an ear up even a his eyes slid over to Coulson. "Sir?"

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to three internally. "Move away, please." Because he really, really wanted to just get this done without having to fill out another IR-49a.

Redenski just stared and Coulson had warned him. He honestly had. 

There was just enough time to get a good view of Redenski's eyes, golden brown against a growing background of white, before Coulson had to step aside. Redenski went down with a wild cat shriek that had heads turning and one unfortunate soul dropping their lunch over the edge. Coulson made mental note to remind personnel that food on the flight deck was ill-advised. The last thing they needed were news reports of falling food. The meatball incident had been bad enough.

A serval darted away, claws skittering against concrete. Coulson turned to give an unimpressed look at the red-shouldered hawk, the latter currently looking smug from brown eyes to fluffed feathers. "Was that really necessary?"

The hawk screeched, triumphant, eyes still watching the path the serval had taken and Coulson sighed. Maybe he'd dig out the business cards Sitwell had given him with the title of Zookeeper. "My office, 17:00, Barton."

Barton's head canted at an angle that would have been rougish if he were human, left eye watching Coulson. They regarded each other, just for a moment, Coulson's eyes narrowing slightly in warning. Barton responded by turning to casually preen a wing joint.

Coulson rolled his eyes - hawks - before turning to tap out the last of the specs on his tablet. "17:00, agent, and as a human. I'd rather not have to vacuum again tonight."

The whump of wings in the air were warning enough of the primaries that grazed his face, giving time for Coulson to reach out and flick the hawk's tail as it took to the thermals. If the gesture was affectionate no one was the wiser by the way Coulson moved toward an Apache.

He still had a 13:00 with a lemur about transportation, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This story probably makes more sense if you know that red-shouldered hawks tend to: a) scream when defending territory or mating, and b) male hawks perform a "sky-dance" when mating, which is really just a fancy term for soaring up high then making a series of steep dives, followed by a wide spiral and a rapid ascent.
> 
> Sexy, sexy times.


End file.
